


Reparation

by quartetship



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Childhood Trauma, Dreams and Nightmares, Fire, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-19
Updated: 2016-02-19
Packaged: 2018-05-21 23:09:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6061602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quartetship/pseuds/quartetship
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[A nightmare. Only a dream. The same as always.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reparation

**Author's Note:**

> Written on commission for [tumblr user yaoi-kjnight](http://yaoi-knight.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Interested in commissioning me? Contact me on [tumblr](quartetship.tumblr.com)! 
> 
> NOTE: The content of this fic was requested on commission. Please read warning tags at the begnning of this work, before proceeding! 
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> \--

_ The cool, calm blackness of a still midnight. A hint of unusual warmth, and the faint rustle of something other than the wind outside the window. A growing heat, curls of smoke pouring into the room through every crack around the door, and the echo of shouting, as flames tear through the wood of the wall, falling in on itself.  _

_ A bright and blinding light, a heat too intense to bear. Then, stunned silence. Nothing. _

_ Everything, lost. _

Jean woke with a start, his heart thundering in his chest as he groped for the edge of his blankets, and tossed them to the side to sit up. 

A nightmare. Only a dream. The same as always. 

It was the same nightmare Jean always had, nearly once a week, since he was a child. It was a terrifying mix of memories and fear, fortified by a lonely, uncertain childhood. In those dreams, he was eight years old again, watching from the corner of his room as smoke poured in through burning hot doors, and the air became too thick to breathe. Only by the strength of one determined firefighter had he escaped, but the flames that he so often dreamt of were the ones that had claimed his parents’ lives, the ones he had opened his eyes to look back through threaded fingers and see engulfing the home where he had lived with them. That home, and everything he knew about life - an entire childhood full of beautiful memories - went up in thick curls of smoke, and a week later, he was dressed in borrowed clothes and mourning his parents with rooms full of strangers. 

Everything had been different, after that. 

When Jean wasn't dreaming of the fire that ripped his family away, he was left with thoughts of the slew of people that tried to replace them, of the foster families that kept him while he waited to be placed with someone who wanted to give him a permanent home. He was on the cusp of thirteen when he finally found his ‘forever family’, and though his adoptive mother and father had loved him through the worst of his issues, the scars left by years of searching for that place to belong had never truly faded. Some of his worst bad dreams were of nothing more than the unwelcoming faces he remembered from those years. 

It took years before Jean could sleep through the night, and even when he did, he was often awoken by the haunting images of his past, kicking blankets and tossing pillows and muffling the screams of his dreams to keep from bothering anyone else. He never imagined that anyone would want to share a bed with him, let alone a  _ life.  _

Thankfully, Marco Bodt was everything Jean wasn't expecting. 

He was patient and loving, understanding and considerate, even when Jean kicked him out of bed in dream-induced terror, on their first night together. Even then, he didn't walk away, and since that day, he'd only gotten more accommodating. After a lifetime of disappointment, Jean needed someone like Marco, but he had no idea what he'd done to actually land him. 

Still, he held onto him. And normally, on nights when his dreams kept him from getting the rest he needed, Marco held onto him, as well. It was Marco’s hushed, soothing voice that would sing him back to sleep, and whisper reassurance, grounding him firmly in the moment, reminding him that he was safe. It was Marco that patched every crack in his psyche that the damaging dreams left behind. 

But Marco was out of town for the week, and Jean was left sitting up in bed, silently pleading with his pulse to stop hammering in his ears long enough for him to lie back down and get more rest before the early call of his morning alarm. 

He checked his phone - 4:16 AM - and groaned. Every part of him wanted to call Marco, despite knowing he was in a different time zone and needed sleep as much as Jean did, since he was traveling for work. Even a text would probably wake him, as light as Marco usually slept, and Jean desperately wished for the comfort he'd come to rely on from his boyfriend. 

But he laid his phone back on his nightstand, and dropped back to his pillow with a sigh. There was no use keeping Marco awake, too. He'd be back in town and back beside Jean, soon enough. In the meantime, Jean would deal with the things that bothered him enough to rob him of his sleep the same way he dealt with everything. 

Suck it up, and pretend it's no big deal.

It had gotten him that far, in life. It would get him through a few days without Marco.

\--

At work, Jean’s cool, careless demeanor kept his coworkers calm. They teased him for it, but it was good for someone to keep a level head. It was important, given the setting. 

After high school, Jean had broken his business-minded father’s heart, by proclaiming that he wanted to work in childcare. It didn't suit him, his father warned. But it didn't matter; Jean would learn to suit it, if he had to. 

He was determined to give children a place to feel safe, a stable environment, even in the midst of chaos. So when the chance came for him to buy and open his own child care facility - one servicing the lower income families of the area - he took the opportunity, and had his father’s small loan paid back in full by the time the staff was fully hired. 

It didn't take long before he had a dependable team, working around him. Sasha, Krista, Mikasa - even Mikasa’s brother, Eren - all acquaintances from Jean’s days in college, learning the ropes of working with children. They each had their strengths, but what Jean liked most about his staff was the way they worked together, and the fact that they respected him, even if they didn't always make him aware of it. 

Eren was probably the worst, for that. The classroom favorite, he worked with the school-aged children, who attended in the afternoons, and kept them engaged by making them laugh, usually at Jean’s expense. But that was alright; Jean usually kept his cool, and he was able to keep his carefully controlled facade affixed in front of the children, even when Eren tested his limits. He could always verbally rip Eren a new asshole in private, if he needed to. He was the boss, after all.

When it came down to it, they were friends, and Eren was quick to notice when something wasn't right in Jean’s world. 

Popping into his office after lunch, Jean expected to find Armin, the part-time file clerk, seated beside the row of tall file cabinets. Instead, he was greeted by a cautious grin and a quick warning, as Eren tossed a soft, foam football in his direction. 

“Heads up!”

Jean barely caught the ball, then frowned in Eren’s direction. 

“Really?” He walked around to the other side of his desk, kicking at the wheels of his chair to cue Eren to rise from it. “You taggin’ in for Armin today?”

“Nah, he's got that dentist thing, remember?” Eren reminded him, taking the ball back from him in exchange for his vacant chair. “I’m just checkin’ up on you.”

“Don't remember that being part of the job description,” Jean laughed dryly, “But I’ll admit I’m curious as to why you felt it was necessary.”

Eren shrugged. “You just seem a little off, is all. Just checkin’, you know?”

“Well everything’s fine,” Jean insisted. He didn't want to talk about what was keeping him from sleeping, what was painting the dark circles beneath his eyes. He shook his head, insistent. “Seriously. Everything is fine, alright? Now go get ready for the horde. Local schools are out early, today.”

“Shit, you're right.” Eren winced, disappearing from Jean’s office without another word. Jean sighed in relief, though part of that feeling came simply from the knowledge that when things were bad, at least people noticed. 

At least, as an adult, he was surrounded by people that cared. 

But that didn't stop him dreaming, and it didn't help him rest any easier. The only person who had ever done that was still miles and days away. Jean had never hated the slow drag of the work week quite so much.

\--

Three days into the week, Jean was beginning to wonder if there was any way he'd even make it to Friday night. He wasn't expecting Marco home until that evening, and proposition of weathering another two days of work, and full night of hell between then and their reunion, was almost enough to make him consider skipping sleep that night, altogether. 

But that had never helped much, either. 

Instead, he kept himself busy, and only stopped moving when he had to. Aside from Sasha’s concerned looks, Mikasa’s motherly warnings, and Eren’s cheeky remarks, it was just another day, and come six o'clock, Jean almost felt reassured. 

Just one more night, then one more day, and then he'd have Marco’s arms to soothe him to sleep when he needed them. 

And boy, did he need them. 

\--

On Friday morning, when Marco called to check in with Jean one last time before his final day on the road, he asked how Jean was feeling. Rather than tell him the truth, and risk a long conversation about how he should have been honest sooner, should have called him in the middle of the night when he really felt like he needed to, Jean glossed over the truth. Drastically. 

“Yeah, I’m alright, just… A few more things going wrong this week than usual. You know how it is.”

On the other end of the line, Marco chuckled. “Oh, of course. The week that you're alone is always going to be the one when you could use a little extra help. Murphy’s Law.” 

Jean agreed with a laugh that he hoped didn't sound as forced as it was, and Marco assured him that whatever was going on, he would help Jean with it that weekend, once he was home. That much, Jean knew he could believe. He hung up and headed to work, reminded of that fact, at least. 

Still, whoever Murphy was, he was a serious asshole. 

\--

Nodding off halfway through his morning, Jean used his break between making the rounds to the classrooms to slam a pair of energy drinks. It worked until just after lunch, when the entire day care was quiet, and every little head was against a pillow for nap time. With nothing to be heard but soft music and the near-silent scratching of pens against paper as the teachers did their daily paperwork, Jean let his mind wander, and his consciousness wasn't far behind. 

But with sleep came dreams, and those dreams were made all the worse by a sudden wave of noise, loudly piercing the placid atmosphere of the facility. 

The fire alarm. 

Jean snapped from his light sleep and was on his feet in a second, tearing down the main hallway toward the terrifying sound. With every step, his mind raced. How would they get all of the children out? Did he even have a plan in place for notifying parents of an emergency like this? Would he lose his center, his job, his livelihood, like he'd lost everything else in his life to fire so many years before? 

When he turned the corner to where the alarm was affixed to the wall, he was sweating, panting, and wobbling on his feet, enough that he nearly crashed into the ladder that sat in front of it. From the top steps, Eren looked down, an embarrassed, apologetic grin spreading across his face.

“Sorry, boss.” He said loudly, and then finally, silenced the alarm. He looked down the hall at the confused faces of the other teachers, as they slowly melted into expressions of annoyance, before closing their doors quietly. Looking back at Jean, he shrugged. “Battery problem.”

Jean stared at him for a moment. He wanted to shout, but that would've only made things worse. Besides, there was no point in it. Eren didn't need to know why the sound of a fire alarm made Jean fear for everything he held dear in his life. He didn't need to know why Jean’s heart was still rioting, his mind still running laps as he tried to grasp the fact that there was no danger, after all. 

He didn't tell him any of that. He only nodded, and heaved a sigh before turning back to head for his office. 

“Just… Warn me next time, yeah?”

With that, he shuffled back toward his door, rubbing at his temples as he tried to quiet the screaming anxieties that tore at his insides. Much more of this, and his coworkers would realize just how weak Jean could truly be, when life was chipping away at him. He considered going home early for the day, but a tiny voice stopped his thoughts - and his steps. 

“Misser Keer-stime?” A little boy stood in the doorway of Eren’s room, the overflow room for nap time. Behind him, other children were rustling, but mostly peaceful in their cots. But the look he fixed Jean with was one of uncertainty, and fear. 

It was a look far too familiar to Jean. He dropped to his knees to listen. 

“Misser Keys-shine,” the boy managed, mangling Jean’s name as charmingly as most of the children there did, “Is… Is the fire gone?”

Jean shook his head. “There was no fire, kiddo. Just a problem with the alarm.”

The boy chewed on his lip, a stuffed rabbit clenched in one small fist. “So everything is okay? We’re safe?”

“We’re safe.” Jean promised. “You’re always safe here. I’ll make sure of that.”

Considering this for a moment, the boy nodded, then reached out to pull Jean into a hug. Jean let himself be clung to, and wrapped his arms around the boy’s shoulders, his touch as sure and steady as he could make it. 

A few minutes later, he headed back to his office, determined to stay until every last child had been seen safely home, that evening.

\--

It was nearly seven by the time Jean watched the last car pull out of the parking lot of his center, and he was exhausted by the time he made it home. The only thing that greeted him there was a message from Marco, letting him know that the heavy traffic on the main highways between himself and their home had kept him longer than expected, and he might be quite late getting there. 

Tired of the week-long series of sucker punches life had dealt him, Jean resigned himself to flopping down on the couch, turning the television on for background noise, and waiting for Marco to walk through the door. 

He lasted a few hours, and then drifted off to the sound of infomercials, a week of terrible sleep catching up to him.

Unfortunately, just behind the arrival of sleep were the arrival of his dreams, and just like they had been for days, they were terrifying nightmares. This time, the imagery was a mix of the hauntingly familiar flames, and new sights and sounds his mind had never offered up, before. Jean saw the little boy from his day care center, crying and clutching his stuffed rabbit, as the center went up in flames, and Jean stood by helpless, watching everything go to ruin. When he finally found his voice, it was because he had found consciousness again, and he screamed into the silence of his apartment. 

This time though, he wasn't alone. When he toppled from his perch on the couch, he fell right into Marco’s arms, strong and steady, and waiting, as if they'd been there all the while that he was asleep.

“Jean, sweetheart, it's alright.” Marco said, just loud enough to cut through the sounds still echoing in Jean’s mind from his terrible dreams. “You’re alright. You’re at home, and I’m here, and everything is okay.” 

“Marco,” Jean rasped, but he couldn't find the strength to continue. He needed to tell him everything, tell him about his horrible week, about his dreams, and about how much he'd longed for the comfort that only Marco was able to provide him with. Instead, he buried his face in Marco’s shirt, breathing in the scent of him and beating back the shivering chill of his fear with Marco’s radiant warmth. 

He was ok. Marco was there, and even if things continued as they had been that week, it would be alright. He was safe. 

Finally, he managed a few words.

“Missed you this week.”

“I missed you, too.” Marco replied, his voice soft. It wasn't the conversation they needed to have, and Jean knew that, but Marco was happy to hold his hand and guide him in that direction. “You haven't been sleeping well, have you?”

Jean shrugged one shoulder, the other too tightly pressed to Marco to be moved. “I mean, tonight was bad…”

“It's been more than just that, though.” Marco said, plainly. It wasn't a question; somehow he knew. The explanation was one Jean should have seen coming “Eren texted me.”

“It's not a big deal.” Jean sighed, but he knew Marco didn't buy it. He never did. Marco knew him far better than anyone else, knew him even in his weakest moments, and loved him anyway. With Marco, the confident veneer he showed to everyone else fell away, and he was laid bare.

And never was he frightened, there. Marco gave him no reason to be.

“Sweetheart,” Marco whispered, taking Jean’s chin in his cupped hand. “You’re wonderful, you know that? The strongest person I know. But--” He pressed a soft kiss to Jean’s lips, stilling them, before Jean had even noticed that they had begun to quiver. Pulling back just enough to look him in the eyes, Marco smiled. “You get so busy pretending you’re okay, taking care of everyone and everything else, that you forget to take care of yourself. So let me, okay?”

Once again, there were no words that Jean could say that could give life to the way he felt, no way to express just how grateful he was to have someone who he could fall apart in front of, again and again, and never fear losing. He returned his face to Marco’s shoulder, and left it there, until his own heart beat slowed to match Marco’s, calm and steady. Only then, he reached for Marco’s other shoulder, tugging at it for his attention.

“Have you eaten, yet?”

Marco nodded. “Brought some junk food home, actually. Tacos and stuff, and those little cinnamon things. Figured we could both use it, after this week.”

Jean sat back, looking up at him. “You have a bad one, too?” He hadn't even thought to ask about Marco’s week, before then. Before he had a chance to feel guilty for it, Marco was pulling him close again.

“Not so bad, considering I got to come home to you, at the end of it.” He pressed a kiss to Jean’s cheek, before hauling both of them out of the floor, chuckling at the surprised squeak he pulled from Jean in the process, before gently dropping him onto the cushions of their couch. “Now, let's go pile up in bed, eat until we’re stuffed, and trade horror stories from the last few days.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Jean said, and regardless of how badly he needed sleep, he knew he'd get it, eventually. There were more important things, then, and with the weight on his chest slowly lifting, he knew he'd sleep better later, anyway. 

Watching Marco retrieve their dinner, he sighed again, happier this time. 

“I love you, Marco.”

With a bag of burritos and a genuine smile, Marco plopped down beside him. “I love you, too.”

Jean’s sleep that night was deep and dreamless. 

With Marco beside him, there was nothing left that life could frighten him with. There was nothing too scary for Marco to pull him through, waking or asleep. With Marco, Jean was free to be afraid. 

But with Marco, he never had reason to be. 

Jean awake the next morning, his only alarm the soft rustle of Marco, still sleeping beside him. He closed his eyes, smiled, and went right back to sleep, himself. He had nothing to fear.


End file.
